Building a Fire
by PADavis
Summary: Happy Birthday, Merisha! Set Season 4. A troll, demon blood, and campfires. Both boys take a beating, because nothing good ever happens in woods and forests. Rated T for macho language.
1. Tinder and Matches

How is it every time I look around, it's MERISHA'S BIRTHDAY! Hard to believe a year has gone by, bud. Have an awesome day, my friend, and I can't wait to see you IN PERSON in Vancouver in August. Yay! Merisha provided me a prompt for the fic - hope I've done that justice.

A/N: This is set in Season 4 and all that that entails. Two chapters, next one up on Friday.  
A/N2: Lightening fast beta provided by the illustrious and ineffable MAD SERVER. Thanks for pulling my you know what out of the campfire.

* * *

The fugly was slowing down.

Sam was loping easily after it, teeth bared in a grin, barely winded despite a two mile race through sun-dappled woods and heavy underbrush. He felt powerful. His skin tingled with energy until he thought sparks would fly off him. He could sense the creature ahead, hear the sound of his brother's harsh breathing to his right as Dean paced him, step for step, but without Sam's … advantages. His right hand touched the flask in his pocket reassuringly. Dean would tire soon, while he could run forever feeling like this.

"We got it, Dean! It's slowing down. Heading south." Which he knew meant toward Dean.

He could've have taken this thing solo. He knew it, felt it in the set of his shoulders and in the easy tense and release of muscles, in his heightened senses and physical stamina. He should have left his brother in the room, sleeping or drinking or whatever he did with his time when Sam was out with Ruby. Maybe Cas would come to visit. A flash of jealousy and anger made his face burn. Dean and Cas. Self-righteous bastards, cutting him out of their angelic discussions, telling him to stop saving people when they were either de-winged or too damaged to even - Sam skirted a clump of trees and hurtled over a fallen log. _Shit_. The fugly had doubled back.

"Dean! It's heading for you!"

"Got it!"

Sam angled off between trees, shouting, "Whad'ya mean, 'Got it'?"

The hollow retort of gunfire peppered the atmosphere. Sam sped up, weaving around trees. He could heard Dean talking but not to him.

"Back off, fugly. Yeah, that's right, back off. See, I happen to be able to read monsters like you…"

_Just like Dean to go all mouth when he's in trouble._ Without conscious thought, he sped up again, worry starting to make him reckless. He felt responsible for Dean these days, even when he was a complete idiot. Sam jumped a stream, burst into a clearing, and almost ran full tilt into the broad back of the troll. Backpedaling, he shrugged his pack to the ground and brought his gun to bear, eyes skipping over the scene in front of him: Dean on the ground pushed up against a tree, the troll bending down over him, the oily sheen of its skin in the shifting light, the gleam of Dean's gun in the loam. Dean's eyes locked onto Sam's as he spat at the monster, "Forgot I brought a friend, didn't'cha?"

The troll straightened and started to turn, moving far too quickly for something that size. Sam shot it, the wrought iron bullets ripping point blank into its skull and temple, but it wasn't down; the body continued to turn, spinning, and blood fountained toward him. He threw up an arm too late, the blood arcing across his face.

The world pinpointed into _pain_. Everything was burning, scalding, impossible… He was on fire. The smell of burnt meat filled his nose. His eyes were melting, leaking down his cheeks. He reached for them, felt moisture and skin blistering under his fingers.

He had to get it off. He tore at his seared skin until his hands were pulled roughly back and away. Fighting, he rolled, freeing an arm only for it to be captured again. Someone was screaming. He had lost track of time when he finally made out a voice over the noise, or underneath it, a deep voice talking and talking, almost crooning. _It's Dean, Dean's here,_ and he was. Sam couldn't make out the words, but he didn't need to, he knew Dean, how Dean used to be at least, so he concentrated on his brother's voice, head rolling when something cool touched his face.

The pain ratcheted down a notch. Panting, he took a breath, held it, and the screaming stopped. More cool on his face. Reaching up again, his hand was once again caught.

"Don't touch it, Sam. Don't touch it. I've got it, I'm right here, that's good Sam, breathe for me, come on little brother, you know how to breathe. Sam, can you hear me? It's water, I'm pouring water, it's helping isn't it? Now, leave it alone for just a minute, you have to promise me, Sam, promise me to not touch it, just for a minute, okay, I have to get to your pack for more water. You with me?"

His voice wouldn't work. A trickle of water touched his lips and he drank a few drops. Coughing, he panted, "With you."

"I'll be right back."

Sam nodded, understanding, but when Dean moved away from him, Sam's stomach churned. He tried not to cry. "Dean." Dean's calloused hand circled his wrist firmly.

"Sam, I have to get the pack. I'll be gone a minute tops. Don't touch your face." Dean released Sam's wrist, but he kept talking, giving Sam aural clues on his location. Sam tried ineffectually to force the tense muscles in his shoulders and arms to relax. Then he tried to remember to keep his hands away from his face, but it was hard. The pain was right _there_, pulsing and throbbing, and the more he thought about it, the more it hurt, until he had to lace his fingers together to keep one hand from straying to his eyes.

A warm hand behind his neck startled him. Sam'd lost track of him somehow but Dean was back, still talking.

"Had to get the holy water, Sammy, get you the good stuff, going to take care of this right now."

More water on his face and it was incredible, like liquid morphine.

"Gotta get this in your eyes. Try to open your eyes, Sam."

But he couldn't. "Eyes—eyes are gone." And then he did cry, reaching for his face again. "Melted, they melted out of my face."

"What? Your eyes are still there, man, still there under the lids." Another slosh, and Sam sputtered and snorted water out of his nose. "Sorry, Sammy, but I've got to do this."

"Sorry?" He sneezed, head bucking forward. "For what?" Dean's hands were on his face, thumbs on his lids. He bucked again, fighting, rolling his head frantically. "No! No, no, just no." There was nothing coordinated, just arms and legs moving, trying to get away, to push Dean away. Sam heard a hiss when his arm lashed into his brother, his other hand clamped over his eyes.

Dean's voice was staccato, barking out orders the same way Dad did. "Stop this right now, Sam! Hold still. _Now_, Sam."

And he did. He stopped. Arms at his side, fingers digging into the soil, he held still.

"Unsqueeze your eyelids." Fingertips brushed over his upper lids. "C'mon, Sam, try to relax. The holy water's gonna stop the pain."

Sam took a deep breath and tried to sink back into the ground, raising his eyebrows and working his mouth until his facial muscles began to relax. "'Kay. Now."

There was an instant of blinding pain and then it was gone, flushing out with the water. He felt limp with relief. _Dean was right_, Sam thought when his brain was working again. Dean used to always be right when they were kids. And even when Dean was a kid, Dean's orders had always made sense. He never once gave Sam inexplicable directions and the 'need to know' crap Dad did. His lips quirked up. No wonder he still followed his brother's orders the way he never would with his dad's.

"What's the smile for, Bozo?"

"Nothing. Just… nothing. Thanks." The hand was back on his neck, lifting him up, then allowing his head to settle on something warm and soft, smelling of oil and sweat and Dean. He sighed, barely noticing when his feet were raised and settled on a pack. A shiver ran up from his toes, making his teeth chatter. "Dean…"

"Steady. I've got a blanket. Gonna put it over you."

He was puzzled until he heard the crinkle of a space blanket and a towel was rubbed over his face and hair. "You brought camping gear?" Sam smiled again, through a yawn. "Thought you… hated camping."

"Still do." Dean was rustling about him. "It's just every time we go outside, we always end up in front of a goddamn fire." He was silent for a minute. "Speaking of fire, I need to burn the fugly. Gotta drag it first or we'll both go up with it. You gonna be okay for a few minutes?"

"Yeah." Dean hissed getting up, and Sam remembered that noise from before. "Hey, you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Dean's voice was strained. "No, Sam. You didn't hurt me." Another pause, and Sam was sure Dean was breathing heavily. "When I'm done roasting the troll, I'll build a fire here 'cause I love going all Boy Scout in the middle of the fucking woods."

Sam got an arm beneath himself, and struggled up. "There's nothing wrong with my legs. We can leave anytime."

"Lie down." He was pushed back, a rustling noise proof that Dean was resituating the blanket. "You have to rest or you could go into shock. I can handle a lot of things but not… not that and everything else."

Another shudder ran through him, as if to prove Dean's point. He nodded, licked his lips. "I'm fine, Dean. It's just my eyes."

"Yeah, right. Hold still anyway, tough guy." His brother grunted before the sound of something large being slowly dragged reached his ears. Dean didn't sound right. Sam settled back on Dean's jacket, rubbing leaves between his fingers. He brought one hand up to rub his forehead, then scrubbed his face with both hands. He'd figure out what was wrong with Dean later.

The skin on the back of his neck was starting to tingle and he shivered again. Maybe it wasn't shock, maybe he was running low. He needed a sip, just a sip to get him through this, make him strong again. Sam snuck his right hand under the blanket. His flask should be…he couldn't feel it. It had to be in his pocket. It was always in his right front pocket. Face flushed, he pushed down his panic, slowed his breathing and dug deeper until his fingertips touched the cool metal.

The sense of relief was tantamount to the holy water over his eyes. He snorted softly at the comparison. Hearing a muffled curse in the distance, he breathed deeply. No smoke. Dean couldn't be on his way back yet. Fumbling the cap in his haste, Sam took a long swig, holding it in his mouth, until the flask was safely stashed. Ruby's blood was vile, grotesque, clotted, thick with a rancid coppery taste. It smelled like puke and piss and crap and sulfur…and it was the most incredible thing he'd ever put in his mouth. He let the gritty, clumpy liquid run down his throat, sucking saliva greedily to swallow every molecule.

* * *

He woke to the sound of Dean's voice muttering something in Latin. He was warm and satisfied in a way that only the blood provided. Sam pulled his eyes open to see blurry shadows, the fire he could hear crackling to one side just a dim blur of light. Relaxing back into the soft folds of ancient leather he called out, "Dean, it's ad abigendos dæmones _morbosque _pellendos, not "_more Bosco _pellendos."

A quiet "Screw you, I like chocolate milk" followed him into sleep.

He wasn't sure what woke him the next time. It was quiet, no sound out of place. Something dripped into his eyes… He reached up tentatively, feeling the skin of his face and eyes, and found sweat beading on his forehead. He was really hot.

"Dean? Switch places with me."

Movement and a pressure along his side he'd barely noticed shifted. "Sam? Y'okay?" The voice was rough with sleep.

"Move. I'm too close to the fire." Sam rolled to one side and got up on his knees, shifting away from the dull glow of the flames. A slight breeze brushed his forehead. He wondered what time it was and why they were still in the woods. They should be out of here by now. Suddenly angry, he glared at the dark shape of his brother. "Good job keeping watch, dude. Really." Moving closer, Sam reached out blindly, rested a hand on Dean's arm and shook it. "Come on, man, I still can't see…" he drew his hand up carefully to Dean's shoulder, then to his forehead. "What the hell, Dean? You're burning up."

He shook Dean's shoulder, eliciting a groan. Dean rolled toward him and Sam had to hustle back on his knees to give him some room.

"Whas' a matter? You okay?"

He reached forward and found Dean's chest under his hand. "What's wrong with you?"

"Got it," a huge yawn, "under control. Plenty of, of time." The next breath was an exhale, Dean's muscles going slack under Sam's hand at the same time.

"Dean?" He pressed down gently, felt the rise and fall of Dean's chest. Pulling back his hand, he rubbed his fingertips together. They were wet, and the slight copper tang confirmed that the liquid was blood.

"Shit, Dean."

* * *

TBC


	2. Embers and Ashes

And here's the end of the story, Mish. I hope you don't mind reading this on Saturday, but it's still Friday on the east coast.  
Once again, a huge heaping helping of thanks to Mad Server, who simply rocks.

* * *

Shaking Dean's shoulder again got him a muffled reminder to bring in the eggs. "Dean, what the hell happened?" Sam gingerly patted down Dean's torso, feeling wet bandages across Dean's chest, ribs, side. He had to find the first aid kit. He started to methodically check the ground for their packs. Dean would have dropped them close by… turning slowly, Sam tried again to discern one dim shadow from another but failed.

One pack had been at his feet. After it disclosed nothing but guns, something he was sure used to be a t-shirt, and a hatchet that nearly slit his hand open, he cast out further, running his hands quickly over grass and leaves until he found the second pack, near the fire. The first aid kit was easy to find, all too familiar a shape and size, but the contents were hard to decipher by touch. He was able to extract bandages, scissors, tape, a bottle of what smelled like disinfectant, and from the pack, a couple of canteens. The pill bottles all rattled alike. Dean would need to tell him which one had painkillers in it. And that meant Dean had to wake up. Sam pulled himself closer in and opened his mouth.

Closed it. If Dean failed to mention one injury, he was probably stubborn enough, or stupid enough to neglect to mention another. _Like he'd get better faster if it was all a big secret_. He'd talked to Ruby about that at least a dozen times. And now he had to tend his brother while he was essentially blind.

Anger and resentment were warring in him, making his hands shake. He stood and walked stiff legged around the fire a few times. _Maybe I need more blood._ No, what he needed to do was calm down or he wouldn't be able to patch Dean up enough to get them both out of here.

He tried to remember what he had seen before troll blood had blinded him. _Dean on the ground. Dean's gun, reflecting light from the forest floor_. Sam examined Dean's legs, impatiently. No injuries. What else? He'd heard Dean shooting—there had been curls of smoke and the acrid scent of gunpowder still lingering in the air when he'd reached the clearing. The visualization exercise Ruby'd taught him was working.

Dean had been mouthy to the troll. And he'd… what? Something about chocolate milk? Dean had blessed some water. Holy water. He'd needed more—he must have used up their stock treating Sam's eyes. So there was Dean, bleeding, blessing holy water to treat his own wounds. And bandaging himself. He looked in Dean's direction. Yeah, that was all noble, but if Dean had just woken him up, Sam could have helped.

_Whatever_. He felt for Dean's left arm, having to unfold it from under Dean's head. No injuries. He roughly tugged Dean's right arm into his lap. Right shoulder, down to his elbow, wrist, hand…back to the wrist. Warm. Swollen. He pressed and rotated the wrist until Dean gasped, jerking the arm out of Sam's grasp.

Sam rubbed his eyes, then blinked several times, eyebrows up and eyes as wide as he could make them. He could see more. If his brother hadn't been with him…but then, if Dean hadn't been with him, Sam would never have come on the god forsaken hunt. _God, what's the matter with me? _First he didn't know why Dean was mad at him, and now he didn't know why he was mad at Dean. He knew, knew that the troll blood had been an accident. Dean hadn't dragged him bodily on the hunt; Sam had agreed to come. And there was his pathetic brother, with his execrable Latin, magically producing camping gear, tending to Sam, burning the fugly, and building a fire with a sprained wrist and a bleeding chest.

And here he was, feeling like a complete asshat. Because he was. He may be leaving his big brother behind in many ways, but Sam would always owe Dean his life. And now was as good a time as any to repay a little bit of that.

Sam tapped Dean's cheek. "Dean. Wake up." He tapped again, harder. "Wake up, Dean." He felt Dean's head roll, and decided to switch out Dean's left arm with a better pillow. Lifting Dean's head up, he put the leather jacket under his cheek. "Dean?"

"Whassit?"

"We need to change your bandages."

"We do?" A shift and Sam felt fingers brushing his cheeks. "Your face looks a lot better. Does it hurt? How're your eyes?"

Sam opened them. "It doesn't hurt. I still can't see more than shadows, but they're getting better.."

"Awesome." Dean yawned noisily, slapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Have to tell Bobby. Holy water…antidote for Troll blood."

"Stay awake, Dean. You need to sit up." He pulled at Dean's shoulders, hoisting him mostly upright through a series of groans. Dean must have put his right hand on the ground, at least that's how Sam interpreted the sucked in breath. "I'll take care of that first. You just tell me if I have the right stuff, okay?"

"Right stuff?" A breathy chuckle.

Sam picked up a rolled bandage. "Is this an Ace bandage?" No reply. He slapped Dean's thigh lightly. "Ace bandage?"

"Yeah."

"Here, hold the clips. Tell me if I start wrapping your elbow or something." Concentrating, Sam wrapped the swollen wrist slowly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What?"

"Tell me about this?"

"Would have, but you were doing some kind of power nap. Only came out of it long enough to correct my Latin. Knew you'd be okay when you got bitchy." Another yawn. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Sam lifted his head, listening carefully. "I don't hear anything. Give me the first clip."

"I heard a moo."

He shook his head. Here we go. _Dean and a raging fever. Good times_. "No, you didn't. Hand me a clip. A clip. For the bandage." He huffed out a breath and tapped at Dean's leg again. "Dean, you have a fever. You're imagining things. Give me a clip."

"Here." Dean took a deep breath, and another. "Fever? No wonder I feel like shit. Give me some Tylenol."

"I'll trade you for the second clip." He checked the bandage again and set the clip. "There. How does that feel?"

"Good. You sure about the cow?"

"Positive."

"Oh. I like cows."

"That's a no brainer. You must have eaten hundreds by now." At Dean's indrawn breath, Sam hurried on, "We can go see some later when my eyes are alright. Bandages next."

"Promise me we'll see cows."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "And chickens. I'll take you to a petting zoo or something." And Dean had better forget this whole conversation. Sam checked for fever again. Dean was still burning hot. Sam was pulling at Dean's button-down shirt while Dean twisted himself into a pretzel. "Hold still."

A muffled voice reached him through the fabric. "How'd you know I was thinking about chickens?"

He dropped Dean's shirt on the ground, and answered without thinking. "I'm psychic." Oh, crap. There was no way to take that back. Maybe Dean was too out of it. "Just joking. I didn't mean…"

"That part of what Ruby's teaching you?" Dean didn't sound angry, just curious.

"No." He rolled his eyes. "No. Look, Dean, it's just that you asked me to bring in the eggs earlier."

"'Cause if that's what you can do, read my mind, crap like that…"

Sam slashed an arm through the air in frustration. _"I can't!"_

Dean came right back at him. "'Cause if you do I'll kick your scrawny ass from here to fucking Cleveland." He paused. "Uh, where are we?"

"Minnesota."

"Good. That's far. And I can do it, no matter how huge you've gotten or what goddamn demon powers..."

"Dean. Listen to me." Sam rapped his knuckles against what he thought was Dean's temple. "You can kick my ass after the petting zoo. Cows, chickens, goats, some bunnies. How's that?" If only he could see Dean's face, see where he was going to go with this.

"Deal. Animals. Kick ass. And stop hitting my nose." Another yawn. "Can I back to sleep now? I have a date."

"No." He held out the scissors. "If you can't get the bandages off, I will."

"Can you see yet?"

Sam frowned. "No. Why?"

"Don't need those." Dean snatched the scissors anyway. "Bandages aren't on real well."

"How many times did the troll claw you?"

"Couple."

"Did you pour holy water on the cuts the first time?" Sam held his breath.

"Yeah. Didn't work as well as it did on your eyes though."

He breathed out. "Which canteen is holy water?" Sam touched the two metal bottles.

"Both. Should be some left."

From the noise, Dean had started to remove his bandages. When he'd finished, Sam passed over the canteen, swabs, and disinfectant. Then handed over unwrapped gauze and pieces of cut tape as Dean rebandaged himself. He handed Dean two Tylenol and two Vicodin. He held up another package. "Dean, is this another Ace bandage?"

"Yeah, sort of. It's one of those big ones. Strapping or somethin'."

"Hold still and I'll wrap your chest. It'll help hold the bandages tight. As long as your ribs are okay?"

"Only got the skin."

When he'd finished, Sam gave Dean a gentle push backwards. "You can go to sleep now." He heard nothing in reply. "You okay?"

A rough exhale. "No, you were right. We should go. There's a couple of hours of light left. We can make the car and get you to a hospital tonight."

"You're in no shape to hike out of here."

"I can make it if you can." Sam could hear the anger back in his voice.

"All right. If you're set on it, we'll go." Sam stood and stretched. "Wait here. I've got to take a leak."

"You okay? You can find your way back?"

"I'm fine. I can see the fire. Just need to find a tree."

"Can't miss 'em. There's about a million at one o'clock. Two o'clock. High noon."

"Very funny." By the time he got back, Dean was quiet, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

It took a half hour of stubbed toes and scratches before Sam had a respectable pile of firewood. He sat near Dean and tossed a couple of branches on the flames, watching with interest as the glow brightened. Sam took a deep breath, relishing the clean smell of wood smoke. He must have kicked up some ash when he got a faint whiff of the acrid scent of kerosene. Dean's theory of fires was a simple one: "If it won't start, use more lighter fluid."

Huffing out a breathy laugh, he remembered this one camping trip. He must have been eight or nine, not long after he'd found the journal. Dad had tasked him to build a fire, and he had taken the job very seriously. Sam had practically memorized a friend's Scouting manual. He knew exactly how to set up a box of twigs and put in the tinder. Dean tried to help, but Sam had shushed him, because this was his job, Sam's job, Dad had said, and he was going to do it on his own. Finally, with the tip of his tongue positioned just right, he'd held his breath, and touched the tinder with his match. Nothing. He tried again and again, holding each match until it burned down far enough to blister his fingers.

Dean had leaned forward to finger the tinder. "It's too wet."

"So how am I going to get it lit?" To his intense shame, he felt tears on his cheeks. "I did everything right. Dad's going to come back and there won't be a fire!"

Dean's huge arm went around his shoulder, tucking him closer. "Sammy, it's okay. It's okay. You did an awesome job. All you have to do now is get it lit."

"But, I can't, it won't light!"

"Not with a match. But hunters? We have _lighter fluid_." Dean rummaged in their dad's pack, handing Sam a yellow can. "Don't you go getting this on your own. You ask me for it, understand?"

Sam nodded. He cautiously pried the top up and looked at his brother, who waved his arm around, mimicking spreading fluid over the fire. Sam upended the can and squeezed until Dean pulled it out of his hands.

"Whoa, Sammy, that's enough. Let's, uh, let's back up a little bit." They did, and then Dean gave him the go-ahead to throw a match. They had to shuffle back further while the first blaze died down, then began feeding larger branches to the fire.

The memory was so clear. Sam could remember biting his lip as he'd looked at his all-powerful big brother. "Won't Dad think I cheated?"

"Let me tell you a little secret."

A secret? Sam was so excited, his chest swelled with indrawn breath. He whispered, "What?"

"Dad wants the job done. How you do it? Yeah, it's important, but it's more important to succeed." Dean smiled at him. "You used what was available, didn't hurt yourself, me," a broad swing of both arms, "the forest, or the weapons. And there's a ginormous fire. That's not cheating. Dad's going to be proud of you."

And Dad had been. Sam pushed the pack with the fewest weapons until it was snugged up by Dean's hip. He could see the reflection of the space blanket from where he'd pushed it, draped it over Dean. Leaning back, he threaded his hands behind his head. Dean had started to snore softly. Sam rolled his head toward the sound, remembering the warmth of his father's praise and his unshakeable faith that Dean had his back.

He might be a better, stronger hunter now than either of them. But they were the only family he would ever have. And Dean still had his back. He was as sure of that as he was of anything. He slipped out his flask and took another sip, relishing the feel of Ruby's blood sparking and vibrating through his nerves, as he settled in to keep watch.

* * *

The sun had been down a few hours when Dean started to wake up. Sam was walking the clearing's perimeter with a flashlight, more for show than anything else. His eyes could make out distinct outlines of objects, so he wouldn't walk into a tree, but details like roots, rocks, holes in the ground, and low-hanging branches… he rubbed his cheek where one had scraped him. He started across the clearing, just as Dean said his name.

"Hey. You feeling better?"

"You're still here."

"Of course I am." Resentment flaring he added, "why wouldn't I be?"

"Never mind." Dean's hand hit the ground. "I should've gotten us out of here hours ago."

"We'll go when it gets light. I'm not in a hurry."

"Right."

Sam unerringly put a hand on the back of Dean's neck. "You need more Tylenol." Sam felt the tablets carefully, handing two pills and a canteen to Dean. "Vicodin?"

"Yeah." Dean tossed the pills back and sat up, blanket crinkling around him. "We're fucking camping. Where's the duffel with the first aid kit?"

"Right next to you."

Dean rooted through it until he had laid out a neat row of supplies. Sam got closer, played the flashlight over them.

"What'cha got?"

"Power bars. Slipped a bag of some kind of hinky trail mix in here too." He tossed that to Sam, who fumbled it. "Ah, Sam, I'm sorry. Are your eyes better?"

"Don't worry about it. And yeah, they're better." Tearing the bag open with teeth, Sam carefully sniffed the contents before snagging a small piece and giving it an experimental chew, just in case Dean had given him habanero flavored trail mix again.

Dean began moving in earnest, and stood up by bracing himself against the ground and then Sam's proffered arm. "I'll be right back." Sam moved to come with him, but he held up his hand, palm out. "You do not need to watch me piss. Give me your flashlight and hand me the canteens. I'll fill them while I'm over," he pointed vaguely, "there. Doin' things."

Dean returned a few minutes later and sat down near the fire, fiddling with something in his hands. When Dean started to shake the canteens, Sam had to ask. "What did you do?"

"Purification tablets. Did it to the holy water too." Sam watched as Dean tilted his face up toward him. "Wasn't sure I had to, but bacteria probably aren't sinful or anything. They could be in there," he pointed at the canteen, "and be blessed and shit, and still infect us. At least, that's what I thought."

Sam smiled and sat down next to him. "You're probably right." He still couldn't see Dean's expressions but he thought Dean had relaxed a little. With that, Sam felt tension running out of him too. He couldn't leave Dean, not after Hell. Not yet. Ruby understood that. Until he had Lilith in his sights, Dean was still a priority.

He looked again at his big brother whose hands, predictably, were busy with something else. "Now what?"

Dean put a stick in his hand. "Wanna roast the power bars over the fire?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed out loud. "Sure." Sam watched Dean intently for a few minutes, watching the play of firelight over his face and clothes. It came to him suddenly that family didn't have to weaken him. Ruby was wrong about that. Family might not help him, and truthfully, sometimes his idiot of a brother could drive him insane, and family could be used to hurt him, but despite everything, he still cared what Dean thought about him. Still cared about his father, his mother.

And his family could help him too—help him in ways Ruby sometimes couldn't. Ruby was many things, a lover, a savior, a teacher, a demon. But she wasn't his friend. His brother was.

Dean turned to face him. "Why the stare, man? You need something?"

"What was all that with telling the Troll you could 'read' it? That never works out the way you think it's going to."

White teeth flashed. Dean must be smiling. "First thing that came to mind. Needed to guide you in."

_Guide him in._ Sam leaned back, thoughtful. Dean _had_ guided him. And Sam had finally arrived. He pulled the power bar away from the fire. Blew on it. Took a tentative bite. Chewed. "Dean."

"Sam."

"These are kinda good."

"Here. Better with M&M's."

Sam reached out for a palm-full of chocolate.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope you'll review.


End file.
